


Caring for a Crow

by kitkatkaylie



Series: Jonmund Summer 2020 [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Day 2, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Jonmund Summer 2020, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: When illness sweeps through Winterfell and Wintertown measures are put in place by the Queen of the North to keep the illness from becoming devastating. Tormund chooses to stay with Jon, to care for him through his sickness.Written for Jonmund Summer 2020 Day 2: Quarantine
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Series: Jonmund Summer 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893670
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Caring for a Crow

A wet, hacking cough rang through the room, echoing off of the stonework and causing its other occupant to flinch in sympathy. 

Every year an illness ran through Wintertown and Winterfell, one brought by tradespeople or refugees that still were still fleeing from the South to the apparent safety of the North. No one was turned away, but any illness was dealt with decisively once it reared its head. Protocols laid down by Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf, whose own reign had been haunted by illness and hunger were put in place, ancient ones, but ones proven to work. Any one who showed signs of illness was to be quarantined away from the rest of the population, in a chamber of the castle or their own home in Wintertown, a guard outside but the understanding that emergency such as fire might allow them to emerge. With them might remain someone to nurse them, and both the patient and their nurse would be brought adequate food and drink and medicine to last the duration of the illness. 

There would be no contact outside of the supply parcels and trays, only the two contained together until the illness was gone or death claimed it’s next victim.

A method not so harsh as some in the South, caring indeed compared to the Westerlands where the damp warm air carried sickness with ease, there homes might be walled up if an outbreak was deemed severe enough, or as in Kings Landing the sick might be grouped together and left to fend for themselves on one of the small islands in the bay. 

The Free Folk never had illness rip through them quite so harshly, their people spread out enough and their disdain for permanent homes meant that they rarely lived near to their own sewage. Tormund struggled with a number of things while in Winterfell with his Little Crow, and the fear of illness was certainly one of them. 

He had volunteered to care for Jon, a position he gladly took for his love of the man, but which he phrased as stepping in for Jon’s sisters. The Queen in the North and her Master of Whispers could not drop their duties to attend to a brother, no matter how beloved he was. 

No one knew Tormund loved Jon, or at least he thought they didn’t. The little wink that the smallest of his sisters aimed at Tormund made him wonder if perhaps he was not as discreet as he thought he was.

Those girls were scarily perceptive though.

Jon coughed again, a wet cough like he had to hack up something in his throat. Tormund rises to his side with a bowl and handkerchief and a mug of the tea the Maester had sent. 

The tea smelt like shit, and probably tasted just as bad as it smelt, but it seemed to work to open Jon’s airways so Tormund made sure he drank it.

Jon had been out of it since the second day, the few times that he was awake he did not seem to remember where or when he was. Sometimes he called out for his father and brother, sometimes he whimpered for his mother or his sibling’s mother, and sometimes he looked at Tormund in fear and asked for Ygritte. 

The last one hurt the most, the reminder of how they had met and the animosity that had once existed between them.

He still cared for him though, with all the tenderness that he could, no matter the name he was called. 

He’d been reassured that once Jon’s fever broke the delirium should fade and he should know who Tormund was. So all he could do was try and aid the fever in breaking. 

He turned to dispose of the muck Jon had coughed up, throwing the rag into the fire as he had been instructed and scouring the basin with boiling water and salt. 

It was as he was adding the salt that the best sound he had heard in a while rang through the room. 

“Tormund?” Jon croaked, and relied gripped Tormund’s heart.

“I’m here Little Crow, I’m here.” He moved to Jon’s side and gently brushed the sweat soaked curls from his forehead.

“How-“ He broke off and coughed again, “How long has it been?”

Tormund smiled comfortingly, “A week. From what your sisters have said you were worst hit.”

Jon struggled to sit up in bed, and Tormund propped pillows behind him to help him.

“That sounds about right. I always was worst hit as a child.” Jon smiled self-deprecatingly, “Lady Catelyn used to sit at my bedside when I was ill, almost like I was one of her children. She never complained about it either.”

There was something sad about those words. About the almost wistful way Jon spoke of his father’s wife. Tormund tried not to judge though, he didn’t know what her story was, and he knew there were far worse people in the world than a woman who was cold to a child not her own.

“Well don’t you think I’m complaining about caring for you, Little Crow. You were a good patient, better than Ygritte when she fell ill.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t difficult.” Jon said.

“Well you didn’t threaten to remove my balls so that automatically made you a better patient.” He looked at the way the nightshirt cling to Jon’s skin, the way his hair was plastered to his forehead and made a decision, “I shall call for a bath for you, or a wash basin at least. I’m sure that will make you feel much better.” 

Jon nodded but then paused as though something had suddenly occurred to him. 

“Tormund,” Jon asked slowly, “Why was it you who cared for me? Surely you had better things to do?”

Tormund turned to him and looked at him with all the sincerity he could muster, “Why do you think Jon? For the same reason I follow you into battle and defend you from all those who might hurt you, the same reason I stay by your side. It’s because I love you Jon Snow. 

Jon’s eyes widened, as though he had never thought such words would be said to him. “Oh.  _ Oh _ .”

Tormund brushed a lone curl behind Jon’s ear, “You don’t have to say it back, I just thought you should know.”

In a movement far faster than Tormund thought Jon capable of his hand was gripped.

“I was surprised, not because of your words, but because I thought my affections unreturned.” Jon said softly, “I love you too, have done perhaps since you listened to me in Castle Black.”

Slowly Tormund’s face split into a huge grin, “I would very much like to kiss you, but I think I shall wait until you are truly well again.”

Jon laughed, a hoarse laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, “Aye, I think that is a good idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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